


Not Today

by AryaHoundLove93



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Birth, Blood, Daddy Clegane, Emotional Roller Coaster, Everyone Else Died, F/M, Healing, Love, Moving On, One Shot, Pregnant, Pregnant Arya, Short One Shot, crackship, farm life, myotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaHoundLove93/pseuds/AryaHoundLove93
Summary: An unlikely pair, in an unlikely situation. One Shot. New to Fanfics.





	Not Today

# Not Today

He took between pacing the ground outside of the farmhouse and bursting in during her particularly agonized wails. He was certain that she was dying. He cursed himself for his familial size. Just as he had killed his Lady mother, this would end her too. He cursed himself for the damned beast he had put inside her. He cursed her for convincing him to run away from the cities. He cursed himself for ever loving her smile. Because she was dying. She was birthing his pup, a moon too early, with no maester, just an old woman who lived in the village. He slammed his open palm against the stone wall of their modest home.

_“Sandor!”_

He paled. This was it. _Aye._ She was done.

He rushed inside and fell to his knees on the floor next to her. She was naked on all fours atop their finest furs. There was blood, gods know how much, soaking through it. Her head hung low and her shoulders shook with pain. She cursed vulgarly at the gods. He crooked his neck to catch her gaze. His giant hand gingerly touched the side of her swollen angry belly. She lifted her head and looked at him.

She was delirious with pain and drunk with something else. After all these hours she had not given up. Her eyes behind the grey were alive with the same glint they carried moments after she slaid a man.

_My deadly woman._

His heart clenched, as she closed her eyes and wailed again, her stomach and back moving on their own. She collapsed onto her elbows, her forehead almost flush on the ground. His hand made its way to her hair. Nuzzling the side of her sweating face, he whispered only for his love to hear.

_“What do we say to the god of Death?”_

_“Not. Today.”_

She gritted, panting, tears streaming down her cheeks.

With the village woman behind her and Sandor holding her shoulders, Arya Stark of Winterfell bore the child.

Locking eyes, breath baited, the two mismatched lovers waited for a wail from the whelp that the old woman worked on. A moment passed and then another. Sadness and fury glinted in Sandor's eyes.

Not at her. No. To the gods. After all this, after all they had survived, after all they had lost, after the months they had hoped, a lifeless child was the crulest of jokes. Yet one he deserved. He had cursed them both. His evil deeds had–

And there it was. With an angry wail, the smallest Clegane red-faced and covered in blood was alive.

She cried along with the babe. How many lives had she taken? How many times could she cheat the god of death? How many Starks had the greedy god demanded? Yet the unmerciful god had gifted her this.

She pressed her forehead against the chest of her old faithful dog and sat on her knees. The babe was finally placed into her aching arms. Sandor who had kept his eyes clamped in relief, opened them. He had half expected his child to look deformed and burnt as he. But how wrong that was. Smooth, untouched, a bit red and a bit squished but more beautiful than a dog ever deserved.

Grey eyes, and a tuft of dirt brown hair. A Stark, a wolf, like the babe's mother.

Sandor's eyes met hers with a glance of terror as she grabbed his large hand and placed it on the small fussing child.

_“I love you.”_ She cooed softly to both he and the babe. Her hard exterior had seemed to been melting slowly over the months, into this very moment. The softness in her eyes was overwhelming. 

His heart sung and soared to his throat. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even meet her gaze again. Another piece of heaven he was sure the gods would take from him. How much more could his old heart take?

He kissed her forehead and with a signal from the old woman, he placed the now sleeping child in her old arms. Gently he gathered the small woman, his unlikely lover, up in his arms soiling his tunic. Carefully, gingerly he placed her on their soft bed linens. Blood still ran down her legs. Reaching out of the large basin, he softly applied warm, wet cloths to her skin, wiping the blood and gore from her thighs and belly.

_“You’re a father now.”_ She teased weakly touching the scarred side of his face. Such beauty from such deep scars. Their life had made tamed beasts out of them both. 

_"Aye. And you’re a mother, my little wild wolf. ”_ he said sadly. _“What in the fucking gods names are we doing?"_ , he asked searching her warm stormy eyes. 

_“Living.”_

And with that, last of their ruined houses, the Hound and the Wolf lived on–with their pup, their farm, and each other, far away from the ghosts of their past. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. If so, leave a comment and maybe I'll write more? Who knows. Either way, please enjoy.


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